Burning Memories
by Dizzo
Summary: A routine hunt for a poltergeist turns bad for the boys; they learn that recovery isn't all about medicine and bandages ... H/c, angst and a bit of humour thrown in.
1. Chapter 1

BURNING MEMORIES

Chapter 1

A routine hunt for a poltergeist turns bad for the boys.

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural, I just borrow it to play with.

xxxxx

A kaleidoscope of images, a deafening cacophony of sound …

… _The hunt; the poltergeist; the fire; the heat … chaos … panic …_

Sam shifted unconsciously in the chair beside his brother's hospital bed; a pained cramp in his stiff back jolted him into momentary wakefulness.

He managed a brief, disorientated scan of the unlit room before his heavy eyes fluttered closed and his nodding head dragged him back into his haunted sleep.

… _The flames; roaring, leaping, burning … Dean stumbling out of the burning house … the child in Dean's arms … thick, choking smoke … the screaming; the sirens … Dean's shirt burning … the child crying; her toy rabbit …_

Sam jolted awake again.

He scrubbed a heavily bandaged hand across his weary face.

Realising that any attempt at sleep was going to be a lost cause, he stood up leaned into a long and satisfying stretch, glancing across at the sleeping figure in the bed before slipping out into the corridor in search of coffee.

Xxxxx

A few moments later, Sam crept back into the room, a cup of rancid lukewarm vending machine coffee in his hand.

"Where'shmine?" The whispered voice was barely audible, but the mischievous smirk was there, unmistakeable even in the gloom of the unlit room.

"Dean", Sam leaned over the bed, smiling at the glassy, unfocussed eyes gazing up at him. He rested his palm against Dean's head; "you should be asleep; why are you awake bro'?"

"Cos' I ain't 'shleep, genius!" Heavy sedation slurred Dean's speech and Sam smiled at the sound - just like Dean had sounded after that disastrous experiment with the Icelandic potato vodka – only without the projectile vomiting he observed gratefully.

"Is it hurting?" Sam cast an eye over the expanse of gauze taped across Dean's right shoulder and side. "Should I call the nurse?"

… _Dean's shirt is burning – he's on fire … screams … Dean is SCREAMING … Dean never screams …_

He was answered by breathy silence, as his brother once again succumbed to the drag of the heavy sedative which had been pumping through his veins in various quantities since they had arrived at the hospital.

Sam took time to listen to the soothing sound of his brother's soft breathing; it sounded like sweet music compared to how it had sounded when he was brought into ER. The sound had terrified Sam; ragged, grotesque wheezes, punctuated by violent coughing and breathless gasps. Smoke inhalation; that's what the doctor had said. He'd talked about possible burns to the respiratory system, that's why Dean had almost stopped breathing.

_... Dean's soot-blackened face ... don't close your eyes ..._

A ventilator had helped his brother along in those first desperate hours. Dean had been kept unconscious until it had been removed a few hours ago, but those in the know had decided that Dean could still benefit from a little R & R and were keeping his IV topped up with the good stuff for a little while longer. This had the result of making Dean's infrequent moments of wakefulness both brief and entertaining.

Sam looked down at the decrepit chair where he had spent the best part of the last 48 hours. It seemed to creak just under the weight of his gaze. His long, muscular frame wasn't designed for long periods of time doubled up in a chair, especially one which seemed to have been expertly designed to be as uncomfortable as possible; he flexed his protesting back again with a groan and glanced enviously at his dozing brother. A nice big dose of morphine please … ice and a slice ...

Satisfied that Dean was settled and comfortable, Sam reluctantly returned to the dreaded chair. He took a sip of coffee and grimaced. He'd done that with every single cup; each one as vile and bitter as the last. He didn't even know why he bought the stuff; Sam briefly remembered reading something about the addiction with smoking being about holding something between your fingers; "perhaps it's the same with sad coffee addicts", he mused, "they need to be holding a cup of something, even if it tastes like rats pee!".

Watching Dean's still form in the bed, Sam's eye settled on the object nestled in the crook of his brother's arm, cradled tightly against his uninjured side, and he smiled, allowing the gentle, rhythmic rise and fall of his brother's chest to gradually lull him back into a fitful, neck-breaking, chair-hating sleep.

xxxxx

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

BURNING MEMORIES

Chapter 2

The story begins on the road to nowhere. Sam's interested, but Dean's hungry.

xxxxx

The call had come one overcast morning last week. Sam remembered it well for the fact that it was so utterly forgettable.

They Winchesters were sitting in a depressingly grubby diner of Dean's choosing on some bleak, godforsaken stretch of road, somewhere between the back of beyond and the ass end of nowhere.

It looked like the sort of place that proudly boasts it has no cockroaches, but doesn't go on to tell you that's only because they were all eaten by the rats. Sam's appetite had run away screaming and remained cowering in the Impala at the sight of the place.

Fidgeting glumly with his mug of coffee, which he had only agreed to have due to the fact that there was boiling water involved, Sam sat trying to find a spot on the table where his forearms didn't stick and queasily watched Dean put away a whole sausage in two bites.

He took the phone call as a good excuse to step outside. Somehow, away from the fetid, cholesterol-soaked atmosphere inside the diner, Sam didn't feel so inclined to hold his breath; he inhaled a deep breath of clean air before picking up.

The voice on the other end of the line was Bobby's.

Xxxxx

By the time Sam reluctantly ventured back into downtown upchuck central, Dean had finished his breakfast and was enthusiastically mopping his plate with a slice of bread.

"Job?" he asked economically, briefly glancing up from his plate-cleaning labours.

"Maybe - that was Bobby," Sam explained, watching in awe as Dean crammed the whole slice in his mouth.

"… and?" Dean mumbled round the mass of chewed bread.

Sam paled at the sight. The only time he'd seen that much dough in one place before was in a pizza oven; "he's had a call from an old friend."

"Yeah?" Dean looked around for more bread; a momentary panic flashed through Sam's mind when he thought Dean, on finding no bread, might actually pick his plate up and lick it clean.

"Yeah", said Sam hesitantly, "this old friend has a neice who seems to be having problems.

Dean looked up "Bobby's old friend's neice?" He shook his head, "so not tenuous at all then?"

"Sounds like it might be our sort of gig!" Sam stated, looking up in amazement as a smiling waitress bought a stack of pancakes over to his beaming brother.

Sam continued, "Strange noises, furniture moving, doors slamming, apparently her six year old daughter fell down the stairs last week. Swears blind someone - something pushed her!"

Any meaningful response was noticeably absent.

Sam sat back with a sigh of resignation. He knew that he could never complete for his brother's attention with a stack of pancakes and a jug of maple syrup.

Xxxxx

Dean leaned back in his chair and patted his very full belly with a satisfied groan. "Dude, that was awesome!" he grinned.

"Dean ..." Sam began.

"Sammy, you should eat more." Dean announced, "It ain't healthy, a guy your size eatin' as little as you do."

Sam stared, "What?" His mouth worked silently for a brief moment, "I eat fine Dean!"

"You ain't had nothin' this morning!" Dean pointed at sam's empty coffee mug accusingly, "You sure you ain't comin' down with somethin'?"

"I'm fine Dean ... can we keep to the point?"

"Why ain't you had breakfast then ... you're not goin' anorexic on me, are you?"

"No!" Sam sighed, "I'm fine; I'll have something when we find a place that doesn't offer a free dose of botulism with every order."

Dean glanced warily at his clean plate, "Quit bein' such a friggin' old woman Sam; nothin' wrong with this place!"

Sam grinned, "sure, I hear the amoebic dysentery is very good this time of year!"

Dean glanced down, patting his stomach again, not so much in satisfaction this time but apprehension.

When he appeared content that he wasn't about to explode, he glanced back up to Sam; "So, what were you sayin' about this job?"

"Bobby's old ..." Sam began

"Yeah, yeah, I get it - six degrees of separation an' all that; get to the good bit Sammy!" Dean picked up his empty mug and made an exagerrated gesture of looking into it and turnng it upside down. Sam pointedly refused to take the hint. Sighing when he realised a refill wasn't forthcoming, Dean continued. "Where is it?"

"That's why Bobby called us," Sam laid a map out on the table. "It's a town called Featherstone, only about three hours away. Possible poltergeist manifestation"

Dean gave one more last lingering look at his empty mug before reluctantly giving in to defeat. "C'mon then, bitch!" He slapped twenty bucks on the table and strode out of the diner, leaving Sam stumbling behind him irritably wrestling with the unfolded map.

xxxxx

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

BURNING MEMORIES

Chapter 3

The brothers begin their investigation and realise that this is so much more than just a routine case for Dean.

xxxxx

Dean pulled out of the car park, with a gravelly skid and the brothers found themselves on the open road again.

"So talk to me Sammy" he glanced at his brother, "what's the job?"

"Bobby says he wants to get this sorted soon as possible, but he's in the middle of a job over a day away. This poor woman's at her wits end. She's been complaining of problems she can't explain, started about three months ago; strange noises, flickering lights, doors slamming, cold spots, there's been a couple of unexplained fires and floods in the house - this is one seriously malicious spirit." he turned to Dean, "she's got a six year old daughter. Lost her husband to a long illness about two years ago".

Dean pondered for a moment, "tragic event, screwed up emotions, traumatised kid … classic poltergeist environment."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Bobby thinks they're in danger."

xxxxx

A half-hour passed and it dawned on Sam that his brother had been unusually quiet.

He glanced across, "you okay dude?"

"Yeah", Dean answered softly, "Yeah, 'm okay."

Sam watched him as he drove, his eyes staring unblinkingly at the road ahead.

"You sure?"

"Kid lost her father when she was four". Dean stated flatly.

Sam took in a deep breath and nodded; the connection hadn't occurred to him.

Dean turned to him, "poor kid don't need this crap; she's been through enough." He took a deep breath, "You tell Bobby we're on our way and we're gonna waste this creepy sonofabitch - whatever it takes, this skank is gone."

xxxxx

The boys sat in the Impala across the road from the house while Sam checked a few facts about the area on his laptop. Dean, acting more on instinct, wanted to take a look and get a 'feel' for the place. The house was old but very well maintained; Dean hated it on sight.

"So, is Bobby's friend a hunter?" asked Dean.

"Not as far as I know", Sam replied, "but he knows what Bobby does - apparently knew Bobby from long before the business with his wife, they go way back; childhood friends."

"So, does this woman know what she's got on her hands?"

"Don't know" Sam sighed, "Poor woman probably just thinks she's got serious plumbing and electrical issues or possums in the roof or something!"

Sam reflected, under any other circumstances, the words 'woman' and 'plumbing issues' used in the same sentence would have had Dean sniggering like a schoolboy. In this case, however, Sam recognised the set of Dean's jaw; that look had 'this sonofabitch is history' written all over it.

Xxxxx

Their visit to the house posing as history students from the local college gleaned some interesting information; a few good leads which Sam was just bursting to get digging into.

At first, the house owner had been nervous, reluctant to let them in, but had warmed up immensely when they dropped Bobby Singer's name into the conversation.

"Rescued her uncle from a cougar attack, huh?" Dean laughed uproariously at the thought of Bobby, the all-action hero wrestling cougars.

Xxxxx

"So what we got?" Dean spoke up as they made their way back to the motel.

Sam sighed, "I'm not sure; she says the house used to belong to the governor of the local jail, and he died in a fire in the house two hundred years ago." He looked across at Dean, "but I don't think that's our guy; there's no way that house is two hundred years old".

"Perhaps she got confused?" Dean speculated, "perhaps she means one hundred years?"

Sam nodded wearily; "maybe!"

"All I know", said Dean, "is that place is seriously wrong. "I didn't need the EMF meter - the evil in that place is so thick, you can almost grab a handful of it". He shuddered, "Seriously, dude, it's making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up just thinking about it!"

Sam nodded and the brothers settled into a comfortable silence.

"That kid - Maisie - she liked you!" Sam broke the silence, turning to Dean with a smile.

"Dude, all chicks dig me - even the potted versions!"

Sam shook his head, smiling, "no dude, she really took to you - even Alison commented on it."

"Alison, eh?" Dean glanced at Sam with a wry grin, "Don't think I didn't see you eyeing her up, you dirty little ram."

"Can we keep our minds out of the gutter?" Sam shook his head with a laugh.

"You started it!"

The brothers sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the purr of the Impala's engine.

"Dean, did you hear what Alison was saying about Maisie and how she won't be without her toy rabbit, how it goes everywhere with her?"

"Peter …" Dean corrected his brother.

"OK, Peter!" Sam laughed, "Kinda cute how it's been her comforter through all the bad times; watching her father decline and die, then though all the confusion and sadness afterwards; she's always got the rab - sorry, Peter - to give her comfort and security".

Dean spoke without taking his eyes off the road, "Kids deal in different ways, Sammy, they're a lot tougher than people give them credit for."

A few more moments of silence passed.

"Sammy, you're starin' at me!"

Sam shook his head absently, "Uh, sorry dude!" He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Hey Dean, did you … you know, when it happened .. Did you …?"

"Did I what?"

"Well, you know, like Maisie, did you have …"

"Are you askin' if I had a comforter when Mom died?"

"Uh, yeah - I guess I am!".

Dean sighed, and was silent for a moment; Sam could see the wheels in his head turning; there was some flippant, smartass comment brewing here, Sam just sensed it.

"Yeah I suppose I did."

Sam jolted in his seat; ok, that was unexpected!

"Only I never had a nice, fluffy purple rabbit like Maisie; oh no, my life could never be that pleasant! No, I had to make do with your heavy, wet ass!"

Sam swallowed weakly and turned abruptly back to stare out of the windscreen.

"Oh look, there's the motel!"

xxxxx

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

BURNING MEMORIES

Chapter 4

The case takes a turn for the worse when the brothers uncover an unsavoury character from Featherstone's past.

xxxxx

A long day of laborious research, staring at a laptop screen and schlepping round museums and libraries followed as both brothers set out to find as much about the house as possible. It proved to be an easier task than either of them hoped due to the fact that the erstwhile Jail Governor, a Mr Roderick Archer, appeared to have significant links with the house, and be something of an infamous local legend at the same time; the Winchesters soon found themselves drowning under the weight of facts, theories, dates and stories about him.

It was well into the small hours when the pieces all finally fell into place. Sam had wished at that point that he could just lie down and rest his tired, aching eyes; but as the awful reality came to light, he realised he had never felt less like sleeping in his life.

xxxxx

Dean, obviously not as stimulated by the research as Sam, had dozed off on his bed, a copy of the Featherstone Tribune spread out across his chest. He suddenly found himself being roughly shaken awake by an agitated brother.

"H-hey, steady on, dude!" He blinked vacantly until his eyes focussed on his brother's distressed face.

"Dean, we gotta go." Sam's eyes were glazed in fear.

Dean abruptly sat up, "What's goin' on?"

"Alison and Maisie are in danger - real bad danger; we've gotta go now."

"Dude, it's two o'clock I the morning", Dean muttered blearily, "They're gonna love us if we turn up hammerin' on their door in the middle of the night!"

"Dean, listen to me!" Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders, "If we don't go there now, there's a very good chance they won't be around in the morning to love us or otherwise!"

Dean knew that look; his brother was beyond scared. He slid off the bed, and grabbed his jacket "C'mon then dude" he grumbled over a yawn.

Xxxxx

"So, you gonna tell me what this midnight dash is all about?" Dean turned to Sam who was fidgetting like a frog on a hotplate.

Sam took a deep breath; "Our friend, Mr Archer; he didn't live in the house where Alison lives; he lived in one on the same site before that."

"Uh-huh!" Dean acknowledged, really not sure where this was going.

"Archer's house burnt down with him in it exactly two hundred years ago. He burned to death in the fire Dean."

"Exactly two hundred years ago?" Dean's head whipped round to face Sam, "how exactly?"

"Tonight exactly", Sam responded.

"Dean, our guy had a reputation for being a tyrant; well, a complete psycho in fact! He hung and flogged more prisoners than the rest of the state combined. During his tenure more prisoners died than in the whole period after his retirement in 1810 up until the Jail closed in the 1930s." Sam took a deep breath and continued before Dean could speak up. "Shortly after he retired, a couple of prisoners escaped from the jail; they set about making his life hell in some kind of revenge-driven vendetta; they attacked him and his house, setting fires, poisoning the water supply, killing their animals; you name it, they did it; they terrified the old man and his wife almost to the point of insanity. They persecuted him for three months, and then one night, they burnt the house to the ground. He and his wife died in the fire".

"Three months?" Dean asked warily

"Three months!" Sam confirmed

"The poltergeist has been persecuting Alison for three months." Now Dean was as wide awake as Sam.

"The activity has been getting progressively more severe ..." Sam added.

"And the two hundredth anniversary of the fire is tonight." Dean hesitated, "Sam, this isn't some random poltergeist manifestation", he turned to Sam in wide-eyed horror, "this is a countdown."

Sam nodded in agreement, "just for the record, Alison's house is about 70 years old; some of the stones from the demolition of the old jail were used to build it."

Dean felt his stomach lurch; he slammed his foot hard on the accelerator and the Impala's powerful growl turned into a roar.

Xxxxx

Both Winchesters gaped in horror when they saw a pall of smoke as the Impala turned into the isolated drive up to the house. Sam had his mobile phone out calling the fire department before the Impala had even skidded to a halt.

Vivid orange flames were pouring out of two broken upstairs windows, and thick, acrid smoke engulfed the top half of the house. Already the heat and roar of the flames was overwhelming.

The brothers leapt out of the Impala and ran towards the burning house, they were met by Alison trying to fight her way into the house, screaming hysterically.

Sam grabbed her, and pulled her away from the burning house, "Alison!" he said urgently, "you're OK, I've got you."

She turned to him, her soot stained face streaked with tears, and fought violently against his grip; "Maisie" she screamed, barely audible over the chaos, "Maisie's in there."

Those words were the only prompt Dean needed. He shrugged his thick leather jacket off and slung it over his head in the manner of a hood, and without even a glance towards Sam and Alison, he dashed blindly into the house, ignoring Sam's frantic cry of "Dean, NO!"

"We got out" she cried, her voice punctuated by choking coughs, "we got out; then just as my back was turned, she ran back in to get that damn rabbit." She broke down in Sam's arms, "I tried to go in after her but I lost her in the smoke".

Sam bit back desperate tears; "Dean's in there now," he reassured her firmly, "if anyone can get Maisie out; trust me, he will!"

Sam looked over the top of Alison's head into the burning house, the thundering roar of the fire, crackling and whistling like a living swarm, the billowing, choking smoke, flying, drifting embers lighting up the night sky like some twisted, hellish firework display. In the distance he heard the faint wail of a siren, and thanked God silently that help was on it's way. Help for Maisie; help for Dean.

Every instinct in his body screamed at him to follow Dean into the house, to find his brother and drag him out to safety, but he knew what Dean would expect; Alison needed protection so that's what Sam had to do. He held the stricken woman tightly and closed his eyes, trying not to think of his brother and that little girl in that terrible inferno …

Xxxxx

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

BURNING MEMORIES

Chapter 5

A terrible night leaves Dean fighting for his life.

xxxxx

Dean's world was heat; intense, searing heat; and suffocating, lung crushing smoke. Within seconds of dashing through the door of the house he was on his knees, gasping and choking, eyes stinging and burning from the acrid smoke.

He crawled through the billowing fury, burying his face into his chest, trying his hardest not to cry out as the overpowering heat intensified; sucking the oxygen out of the air, he had to try to save his precious breath as much as he could.

He focussed on finding the girl; "If I'm scared," he thought, "how the hell must she be feeling?" He tried to shout her name, but a combination of his own breathless, spluttering gasps, and the thundering roar of the fire around them carried the meagre sound away. "Why does fire have to be so friggin' noisy?" He made a mental note to ask Sam – Sam knew the answer to all sorts of crap like that.

He gave another desperate, choking cry, "Maisie …"

xxxxx

Sam stood, paralysed with fear, gripping the distraught woman and watching the blazing house. "… please, Dean, please, oh God, please Dean, get out …" the mindless, frantic mantra repeated on his lips over and over, distracting him, mesmerising him; he didn't even notice the fire truck until it pulled up beside them.

"My brother's in there," he hammered on the truck, "he went into save a little girl." Sam was beyond scared, the words came out in hoarse, terrified scream.

As the words left his lips, a burning figure half stumbled, half crawled out of the door to the house, a long, terrible, pained cry came from the figure.

Sam could contain himself no further; abandoning Alison, he sprinted over to his brother, ignoring the heat, ignoring the smoke, ignoring the shouts of the firefighters; nothing mattered now but Dean. Sam's eyes fixed in horror on the flames licking the right side of his brother's body.

Maisie was cradled in Dean's left arm against his chest, wrapped in his thick leather jacket, and it was only when he approached them that Sam realised with horror that the horrific screams he could hear weren't coming from the little girl.

Tearing the child from his brothers arms, Sam handed her to someone behind him; he neither knew nor cared who it was, and dragged Dean down onto the ground, rolling him over and pulling his jacket around his brother's body, pressing his full weight into smothering the flames. Sam felt his hands and forearms burning through the material, but the sight of Dean's soot-blackened, tear streaked face twisted in agony, gasping and choking through foam flecked lips was a powerful anaesthetic.

He clutched Dean's shoulders trying to soothe the violent shaking, muttering soft reassurances, trying and failing to look calm and in control as the paramedics descended.

"Dean, look at me," he begged, staring intently at the bloodshot green eyes, "look at me Dean, please; please don't close your eyes …"

xxxxx

Sam watched in despair as his brother was loaded into the back of an ambulance. Maisie had already begun her journey to the hospital. She was in far better shape than her rescuer, and had needed less treatment at the scene to make her ready for travel.

Alison called from the back of the ambulance to Sam that she would see him at the hospital, but Sam was deaf to everything except the breathless gasps of his brother as the paramedics worked, introducing IV lines, pumping oxygen and cutting away the burned remains of his shirt. He ran his fingers through his brother's thick hair, "Dean, please don't close your eyes …" he whispered mindlessly.

Eventually, the strain and the horror of the evening took it's toll; Sam staggered away from the paramedics; and vomited violently into the grass. He dropped to his knees and the let the tears fall.

xxxxx

In a depressingly bare treatment room; a friendly nurse cleaned and bandaged Sam's burned hands; she apologised sweetly for any pain she was causing, but her patient was numb. He wanted the pain; he needed to suffer to feel worthy of his brother's love. Any pain he was enduring right now was nothing compared to what Dean put himself through to save that little girl.

Earlier, he had watched, helpless, as Dean was rushed away into ICU; a flurry of activity and frantic shouts of 'major burn', 'smoke inhalation' and other equally frightening words following him on the journey.

That was the last Sam saw of his brother; and all he could do was sit despondently picking at the heavy gauze strapping on his hands and wait, pleading with any passing uniform for news.

xxxxx

After what seemed like an eternity, he was taken to see his brother.

A soft-voiced nurse with a kindly face told him what to expect; "there's good news and bad news, honey" she said with a gentle smile.

"The burn on your brother's shoulder and right side is quite superficial," she stopped and turned to Sam, "that's down to your quick action, so that's good," she smiled; "but, because it covers large area we're treating it as a major burn;" Sam listened numbly. "We're confident there won't be any significant long-term damage or scarring," she added.

She slowed down for a moment and placed a hand on Sam's arm; "the bad news is that the smoke inhalation burned his throat and this means he almost stopped breathing". She paused to let the news sink in; "when you see your brother, honey, he will be on a ventilator". She looked up at Sam, gauging his reaction before she decided to continue, "he's being kept under heavy sedation for the ventilator and for the pain, so he'll be asleep and you won't get any reaction from him".

Sam nodded absently; he took in the information quietly and calmly, and so knew exactly what to expect; but when he walked into the hushed, dimly lit room, the soft whoosh of the vent and the beeping of the heart monitor, hit him like a sledgehammer; at the sight of Dean's pale face and his still body, swathed in gauze, surrounded by a tangle of tubes and wires, he crumbled; what little composure he had left dissolved.

The nurse gently patted his shoulder; "I'll leave you two together - take all the time you need" she whispered, and closed the door quietly behind her.

Sam sank to his knees, and took his brother's hand; "why do you have to be such a hero, you jerk?" he sobbed.

Xxxxx

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

BURNING MEMORIES

Chapter 6

Dean takes the first steps on the long road to recovery. Sam's there, along with a new friend ...

xxxxx

The hours passed, and Sam remained at his brother's side; sitting beside the bed, talking softly, chatting through shared memories and watching; watching his brother sleep, watching his every breath, watching him heal.

Nurses came and went, smiling sadly at Sam, checking Dean's vitals, his dressings and fussing over the IV before once again leaving Sam to his thoughts.

The chair creaked as Sam shifted and yawned; he gently stroked Dean's hair, running his thumb across the warm forehead. He leaned his head against the wall, and closed his eyes, reassured by the contact. Sleep was a long time coming, but eventually he dozed off into a light, restless sleep.

His eyes flickered open with the first hazy light of dawn. Flexing his stiff, aching neck he stood up, stretching, feeling his crumpled joints cracking and popping. He looked across to Dean, lying silently beside him.

"Hey, dude?" he bent down, taking his brother's hand, "how you doin'?" His eyes fixed on the still, waxy face, long lashes pressed against pale cheeks; and he reflected on how peaceful his brother looked after the horror of recent events.

With a backward glance, he slipped from the room and wandered down to the vending machine which had become his regular watering hole, dispensing a limited choice of nasty coffee or even nastier decaffeinated coffee.

He was distracted by a voice behind him.

He turned to find Alison standing beside him. "Hey", she said, "How is he?"

Sam smiled, "Hey Alison", his smile faded, "he's stable I think." He gestured towards the room; "come and say hi - he'd like that." Alison nodded and they walked slowly in the direction of the room discussing the relative merits of the vending machine coffee as compared to paint stripper or metal polish.

Sam opened the door, and Alison stepped through; she stared at the unconscious, bandaged figure in the bed and her eyes filled with tears.

"I can't ever repay what you both did for me," she whispered, "Maisie's okay, the doctor said she might be able to go home later today."

"That's great", Sam smiled warmly, "fantastic news".

"It's all down to you guys," she hesitated, "I can't bring myself to think about what would have happened if Dean hadn't gone in after her". She wiped her eyes, "I'm so sorry it's hurt him like this; if there's anything we can do to help - anything - just name it."

Sam looked at her, "honestly Alison, we're fine, thank you," he lied; he looked round at Dean, Alison followed his gaze. "You must be so proud of him." she murmured.

"you have no idea …" Sam muttered absently.

xxxxx

A few more hours and a countless number of disgusting vending machine coffees later, Sam was absolutely convinced his taste buds had been permanently disabled.

He sat in the corridor, having been ushered out of the room whilst a doctor introducing himself as Doctor Wallis came by to carry out an examination. When the door opened, Sam stood up, encouraged by Wallis' face.

"He's doing better than we could have ever hoped;" said Wallis enthusiastically, "I think we can take him off the vent."

Sam's eyes lit up, "really?" he received a bright nod.

"That means he's getting better, right?"

"Well, it's certainly encouraging!"

Sam stood, listening and nodding as Wallis explained that they would gradually reduce the sedative after the vent came out, so Dean would start waking up on and off; "but you might not get much sense out of him for a while …"

Sam's smile grew broader, "Ah, don't worry doc, I'm used to that!"

Xxxxx

Another visit to the corridor, another long hour spent staring at the vaguely bile coloured walls and sipping warm paint stripper; but Sam didn't care. His brother was getting better, Doctor Wallis was cool, bile and paint stripper were cool, life was cool.

When the door opened, and the nurse wheeled the ventilator unit out, wild horses couldn't have stopped Sam barging his way back in. Dean lay still and silent, but the vent was gone. A nasal catheter arched across his face, and his chest rose and fell softly under it's own steam; Sam leaned on the bed and smiled.

xxxxx

He turned on hearing a knock at the door. Opening it, he saw Alison standing in front of him again, this time Maisie stood behind her, Peter gripped tightly in her arms. "Hey Sam" she whispered, "we're going now, I just wanted to say goodbye"

Sam nodded, "Where will you go?"

"To my Moms for a while," Alison replied, "she'll love having Maisie around all the time".

Sam stepped aside, gesturing to the bed, "do you want to say goodbye to Dean?" Alison nodded and walked Maisie across the room towards the bed.

"They've taken him off the ventilator – he's doing really well" Sam told her with a smile.

"That's fantastic news" she replied warmly, "the best."

Maisie looked at the sleeping figure. "Poor Dean sick?"

"Yes, sweetheart" Alison said sadly, "the smoke and the fire made him very poorly, but he's going to get better".

"Not nice being sick; I's sad and scared when I's sick," Maisie looked up at Sam; "he's scared?"

Sam crouched down in front of the little girl; "the doctors have given him some medicine to make him sleep, so he won't be scared". Maisie looked up at Sam, clearly unconvinced; "and if he gets scared when he wakes up, I'll be here to look after him."

She looked up at her Mom, "Peter make me not scared and not sad."

Alison knelt down, "Dean's very brave, sweetheart, I'm sure he won't get scared".

Maisie looked at Peter the Rabbit, then at Dean.

"Dean have Peter" she announced firmly, "Then he's be happy and not scared."

Sam shook his head with a smile, "I can't let you give Peter away, honey, he's your rabbit; he looks after you."

"He's look after Dean now". She reached across on tiptoe and placed the rabbit on Dean's chest.

Sam's mouth moved but no words came out. He looked at Alison, "Oh God, I'm so glad Dean's asleep", he croaked; he rubbed his hand over his face and looked up to the ceiling sheepishly, "I think I'm going to cry!"

"I'm way ahead of you there," Alison sniffled, laughing and wiping her eyes; she stood up and reached across to hug Sam.

Sam wiped his eyes, and looked down at the little girl who was completely ignoring the two weeping adults and staring at her sleeping hero. She was instructing Peter to look after his new charge.

Sam knelt down beside her, "are you sure you want Dean to have Peter?"

She stared levelly at Sam and nodded very slowly, as if she was communicating with a cretin. "Well then, I know Dean is going to get better now!" Sam smiled broadly at the little girl.

She leaned forward and kissed Sam on the cheek, he ruffled her hair and then lifted her up so that she could kiss Dean. "thank you Dean" she whispered.

Eventually she stepped back and took her Mom's hand. Alison mouthed 'Good-bye' to Sam and they stepped out of the room, quietly closing the door behind them.

Sam stared at his brother; "looks like you don't need me any more, bro'" he chuckled, slotting Peter in the crook of Dean's elbow, nestling the little purple rabbit against his brother's uninjured side.

His eyes lit up as Dean shifted at the touch.

"Hey dude" he whispered, "take it easy."

Dean sighed, his eyes fluttering open just long enough to latch onto his brother's; they held each other's gaze for a few seconds, before Dean's eyes closed once more, "S'mmy .." he murmured before sleep claimed him again.

Xxxxx

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

BURNING MEMORIES

Chapter 7

The brothers set out on the long road to recovery with the help of friends, old and new ...

xxxxx

It was on the third day after the fire that the doctors decided to withdraw the sedative and Sam's brother came back to him; suddenly all the toxic coffee and the back-wrecking torture chair was worth it when the green eyes fluttered open, blinking woozily as they focussed on his beaming face.

"Hey bro'" Sam smiled, his bandaged hand gently gripping his brother's wrist.

Dean blinked rapidly, and squinted until his eyes settled into focus. It was then he realised that he wasn't seeing double, but there was another face next to his brother's.

"Bobby?" he whispered, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

"Good to see ya, dude!" Sam's grin broadened.

Dean moved to sit up, but gasped as his burn stretched with the movement; "holy crap!" He flopped back down into the mound of pillows at his back, panting; "what the hell was that?"

Sam fussed around him, fiddling with the dressing. He slipped his hand around Dean's back to make sure it was all still in place; "you decided to be a great big hero and run into a blazing house to save a little girl's life."

Dean stared up at him, "did I? Cool!"

"Yeah, an' if ya ever do it again, I'll friggin' kill ya;" Bobby added, "what ya tryin' to do boy? Give me a goddamned stroke?"

Dean looked at Sam, "am I in trouble?" he gestured towards Bobby.

Sam laughed, "well, maybe just a bit" he rubbed his big brother's back.

Dean closed his eyes against the pain of his wound, "how's the kid?"

"She's just fine, went home a couple of days ago," Sam reassured his brother, "oh man, she thinks you are just about the best thing on the planet ..."

Dean grinned, "great judgement for one so young."

Bobby parked himself in the chair that Sam had made his own over the last four days; "yeah well, Golden Boy, you char-grilled half your chest in the process, ya idjit - not to mention roasting your lungs through smoke inhalation." Bobby grabbed Dean's arm, "Jeez boy, y'almost died."

Dean was shocked to see the older man's eyes swim with tears; he turned away, giving Bobby a moment to compose himself, "I don' remember any of that," he whispered.

"Yeah well, trust me it's for the best!" Sam muttered. He reached round to the table behind him and picked up a bottle of orange juice, offering it to Dean. He helped his brother lean forward, and watched as the elder Winchester took the bottle and drunk enthusiastically.

Dean's eyes suddenly latched on to his brother's bandaged hands; and he abruptly put the bottle down. "What happened to your hands?" He stared at Sam in dismay.

"Ah, nothin' much; just got a bit too close to the fire, dude." Sam smiled, hoping that Dean missed the knowing glance that skipped between him and Bobby.

xxxxx

Dean was anxious to know how the case had turned out, and was relieved when Bobby told him he had followed them to Featherstone to tidy up the loose ends. "…'cause our friend, the prisoner's pal was burnt up in the original fire, I had to go lookin' for other remains, so I paid an 'out of hours' visit to the museum and had me a little bonfire with his wig and his gloves; that took care of the creepy sonofabitch." Bobby smiled at the thought.

He went on to explain how a cover story involving rat infestation, damp in the electrics, rusty pipes and a catastrophic collection of other defects associated with old houses meant that Alison and Maisie would never know the awful truth of what had happened to them.

"You did good boys," Bobby smiled warmly, "thank you."

The brothers looked at each other and smiled; it had all been worth it.

xxxxx

Increasingly restless, Dean looked down at his bandaged chest, and his eyes fixed on the object under his left arm; he stared at it then looked up, perplexed, at the two grinning men beside him.

"Do either of you mind tellin' me why I'm in bed with a friggin' rabbit?"

Sam stifled a laugh, "Peter," he corrected his brother.

"Whatever", Dean picked the purple rabbit up by one ear, "What's Peter doin' in bed with me?"

"He's protecting you." Sam sniggered, "isn't he adorable, Bobby?" Bobby studied the scene, "who, Princess Fairycakes there or the rabbit?"

Dean's eyes widened in horror, "are you tellin'me, I'm a full-on, gold plated hero lying here with all those hot nurses fussin' round me and all the time I've been cuddlin' a friggin' toy rabbit?"

"Uh, yeah, that's about right," Sam grinned wickedly, "don't worry bro', they all thought it was really cute".

Dean closed his eyes, "oh God; kill me now!"

"Seriously Dean," Sam laughed, "Maisie was quite insistent that Peter stayed with you to protect you and look after you."

Dean looked up at him, "She gave me her special rabbit?"

"Told you – you made a big impression."

Dean examined the little purple toy, and looked up at Sam with wide green eyes. "Wow … that's sorta, um, kinda really nice ... I dunno what to say!"

"You should keep it, it suits you," teased Bobby.

Dean raised his arm to present an indecent gesture at the older man, but the effect was ruined somewhat by a sharp flinch and a stifled grunt as the burnt flesh stretched again; Sam's hand was round his shoulders in an instant.

"Steady, bro', how's it feeling?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably in the bed with a pained wince, "friggin' hurts" he groaned miserably. He turned to Sam, "how soon before I can get out of here?"

Bobby rolled his eyes, "if you spent as much time concentratin' on getting better as you do bitchin' about getting' out, you'd be in a lot less pain, ya moron."

Dean sighed petulantly and leaned wearily into Sam's hug. He absently began to pick at some of he surgical tape across his stomach until Sam swatted his hand away. "Leave it!"

"Yes mother." snorted Dean, settling huffily back into the mound of pillows behind him.

Bobby looked across at Sam, "Shall I go and see if I can get him some more painkillers to settle him down?"

"Uh Bobby, that might not be necessary," Sam replied, gesturing towards the elder Winchester.

Dean's faint snores drifted up to greet them.

xxxxx

"Why don't you keep it?" Sam asked lightly.

"Seriously, dude, what am I gonna do with a toy rabbit?" a dressed and antsy Dean sat on the edge of the bed holding Peter and waiting for Bobby to come back to tell him the Impala was ready and waiting to take him away from this place. "We've got enough stuff to cart around with us already, and anyway, if I donate it to the children's ward here, he - it'll be a lot more use to them."

Sam shrugged and hauled Dean's duffel up onto the bed next to him.

"I'm just gonna hit the head, then a soon as Bobby gets back with the car, we'll go," Dean nodded at him with a smile, and watched him leave.

xxxxx

The brothers sat in the back of the Impala; Dean leaning heavily against Sam as he slept soundly through the journey. Sam knew Dean would be waking up sometime soon, so pulled Dean's duffel onto his lap to root out his painkillers.

As he pulled the zip back, two purple ears popped out to greet him.

Sam stifled a laugh and looked down at his sleeping brother.

"God, I love you bro'."

xxxxx

end

_Sort of the end, but I can feel a short epilogue coming on ..._


	8. Epilogue

BURNING MEMORIES

_Epilogue_

A brief glimpse (post-main story) at the boys' peaceful and idyllic recovery under the loving care of their dear old friend, Bobby.

xxxxx

The morning sun streamed through dusty windows as Dean stared in disbelief at his brother.

"What d'ya mean I can't have a shower?" he snorted, "I stink – I wanna shower."

Sam shook his head in exasperation and paced up and down the faded carpet, "did you even listen to a word the doctor said?"

"What kinda stupid question is that?" Dean glared at his brother, "course I didn't – that's your job!"

Sam pointed to the expanse of gauze strapped to his brother's side. "Dude, you've got to keep your burn clean and dry. Dry means not wet, Dean; that means NO SHOWER!"

"Well, what am I supposed to do then?" Dean snapped petulantly, sitting on the bed clutching his towel.

In a discreet corner of the room, Bobby leaned against the wall, quietly watching the increasingly irritable exchange with growing amusement.

"Well", sighed Sam; "for the time being, you'll have to shove your stupid bullet-headed pride up your ass and accept some help with getting a wash."

Dean huffed irritably, "Oh yeah, you'd just love that." He reluctantly stood, gathering up his towel, "come on, Florence, better get to work then."

Sam shrugged, and held two bandaged hands up, "sorry, bro' - sorta needing a little bit of help myself at the moment."

Dean gaped, and dropped back down onto the bed; "Oh crap; well, then who can … how … ?"

Bobby leaned out of the shadows into Dean's line of vision and waved.

A long silence was followed by a weak splutter … "You've GOT to be kiddin' me …"

"Sorry dude," Sam smiled apologetically, "why else do you think we came to Bobby's place once we left the hospital?"

Nurse Bobby strolled casually across the room, "Well then ladies, I'm going to run the bath; who wants to go first?" He glanced across at the brothers with a wicked smile, "don't forget your powder puffs."

"Take me back to the hospital …" pleaded Dean.

xxxxx

Sam pulled Peter out of Dean's duffel, and sat on the bed next to his shell-shocked brother.

"Glad you kept this bro'," he muttered nervously, listening to Bobby's tuneless singing over the splashing bathwater; "we might need someone to protect us over the next few weeks!"

The brothers sighed in unison; hell, this was going to be one long recovery …

xxxxx

Really the end!


End file.
